


I Will Try to Fix You

by moderatelyRambunctious



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Seriously guys this has rape, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderatelyRambunctious/pseuds/moderatelyRambunctious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody will find you here.<br/>Then again, nobody will be looking for you.<br/>You let out another helpless wail and wish for the man to come back and kill you.<br/>You wish you had something you could use to do it yourself.<br/>You feel the breeze kick up and the wet spots on your skin chill you to the bone.<br/>And then, mercifully, blackness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knocked Down

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains rape, suicidal thoughts, bullying, and drug abuse.  
> This story is initially very Sadstuck.  
> This story did not have a beta.  
> This story will have multiple chapters.  
> This story happens to be my first PB&J fic, and I'm sorry that it had to be like this.  
> This story can also be found on FanFiction.net.

Wake up, bathe, dress, get your shit together, then drag your sorry butt to work. Deal with moody patrons, restock the stacks, and avoid knocking over any book piles. Lock up, dinner alone, then home to watch reruns of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Cry like a baby when the house is revealed, then crawl into bed and hope tomorrow brings something different.

It never does.

This has been your routine since you moved into your apartment six months ago. You’re used to living on your own now. At first, you were scared and excited, but now you’re just scared and bored.

You’re on your way to the diner you eat dinner in every night. You call it your favorite, but it’s only really because they have a long counter that runs along the walls that you can put your chair under and eat on.

And maybe because their chicken nuggets taste like Jesus’ nipples.

You snort a little at that simile. Your waiter looks at you like you might be choking. You smile at him and he walks away.

You hate faking smiles.

You think your last genuine smile was the day you thought you died.

*

You were bullied relentlessly in high school. You were mostly just teased, but a few boys would go out of their way to bother you.

You think it all started because of the secret your ex-best friend blabbed to her boyfriend, who had always hated you. He told _his_ best friend, who read it on the school announcements over the intercom, which made 1,600 students instantly aware of your sexual preference.

Some of them didn’t care. Some thought it was funny.

Some hated you. Some hunted you down in the hallway just to whisper in your ear that you were going to Hell. Some stared openly at you, teeth bared in an inhuman snarl. Some knocked your books out of your hands and called you awful names.

Nobody would help you pick them up.

But this one boy seemed to really hate you. And to be honest, you think you hated him back.

He would slap you, or grab your pencil off of your desk and snap it in half. Sometimes, if he saw you outside, he would throw rocks at your head.

He mostly just liked to push you. Shove you around in the hallway. “Accidentally” push your lunch into the trash can. Slam your head down into the water fountain (which sometimes made the water run red and taste like copper).

One day, you just got sick of it. He pushed you. You crashed into a wall and your head collided with the unforgiving brick of your school building.

You rallied your courage and smiled to yourself. Today, you’d finally get him back for all the shit he put you through. Today, you’d show him how it felt to kiss the concrete. Today, you would have justice. 

You charged.

You pushed him back. He was stronger than you. He grabbed your arm and slammed you back into the wall. He spun you around and kicked your legs out from underneath you. You sprawled forward. Hurt, bloody, and scared, you tried to crawl away.

And then, the bus came.

*

You look down at your lap, at your stupid, flimsy legs. Broken, useless, just like the rest of you.

You are paralyzed, and have not tried to stand up for yourself since then.

It’s been three years.

Your sigh is laced with self-loathing and you scarf down the rest of your nuggets. You leave the cash on the table ($4.13; you know without looking at the bill), and wheel your way out the door.

You’re a block from your apartment when your chair jolts to a stop. You look up at the man who’s gripping the handles.

“Hey, cripple. How much money you got on you?”

This is not the first time you have been mugged. You know by now it is better to just hand over your cash than attempt to run away. You glance at the scar on your forearm from the time one man said you were “taking too long,” and stabbed you. The three dollars in your pocket are not worth another ten stitches.

“Um,” you stutter, God damn your stupid speech impediment, “I only have, maybe, a few dollars left.”

“Enough to buy a bus ticket? I gotta get a ride somewhere.”

You stop to consider this. “No, I, uh, don’t really think so.”

The mugger hums thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ride _you_.”

Your chair is turned forcefully and the man begins wheeling you into an alley.

Ice runs through your veins. _This_ is new. This has never happened before. You try to reach for the brake on your chair, but still when you feel cold steel on your throat.

“What do you think you’re doing? You gotta pay me somehow, cripple.”

Your chair is stopped again and you are unceremoniously dumped forward onto the ground. Your face slides on the gravel and the sharp sting of rocks on your skin brings tears to your eyes. You are pushed down flat (eerily similar to the position you were in when the bus hit you. Funny, how life keeps fucking you over, literally and figuratively), then something hard like concrete is placed under your hips. You cry out. You hope someone hears you.

Your legs, your fucking useless legs, are lifted slightly and spread apart. You are divested of your favorite cargo shorts and your boxers are yanked down around your knees.

You can feel the concrete block stabbing into your thighs and stomach. You feel a cold breeze against your exposed skin and shiver. You feel a colder, rough hand grab your hips and pull your legs open. You feel hot breath on your back as he laughs and grips your thighs hard enough to bruise. You feel the impact of wet spit hit you and the blunt head of an unwelcome bit of anatomy shove past the protective ring of muscles and you scream. You feel him push in deeper, using the blood you didn’t know was flowing from you as lubricant, as his dick rips through the skin in places you yourself had never explored.

You wish you could stop feeling.

The tears are rushing down your cheeks and you scream and yell and wait for someone to come and save you.

Why is nobody coming to save you?

You feel him push in a few more times, until he suddenly pulls out.

He walks around to stand in front of you, and, looking you straight in the eyes, jerks himself off furiously.

He comes on your face.

He laughs.

He zips up his ratty jeans and leaves.

All you can do is cry.

The way you are laying makes it virtually impossible to reach your shorts and pull them back on. The road here is at somewhat of an incline, so your chair has rolled away to rest at the mouth of the alleyway. Your skin is numb and your back hurts worse than anything ever has before.

Worse than the bus.

You cry and cry and try to scream for help but your throat is just as raw as the rest of you and you can’t even move enough to pull yourself into the fetal position. 

Nobody will find you here. 

Then again, nobody will be looking for you.

You let out another helpless wail and wish for the man to come back and kill you. 

You wish you had something you could use to do it yourself.

You feel the breeze kick up and the wet spots on your skin chill you to the bone.

And then, mercifully, blackness.


	2. Sometimes

You dream of screaming. Your nightmares are of screeching tires and jeering children and the unbelievable pain of having the bones in your legs crushed under the weight of a school bus going too slow to kill you but just fast enough to end your life. You dream of cold nights and dark alleys and the uncomfortable feeling of blood drying on bare legs.

Your sleep is tainted and restless, but for some reason, when you wake up, you are warm. There is a soft blanket tucked under your chin and the lights you can see behind your eyelids feel too bright, and it takes you far too long to realize that you aren't in your own bed.

Your eyes snap open and race over your surroundings.

Your first thought: How did I get here?

Your second: I hate hospitals.

You're alternating between trying not to cry and mustering up the courage to press the 'call' button when a nurse walks in.

She has her dark hair tied back in a pink ribbon, but it still reaches the backs of her knees. She wears pink-rimmed glasses and has a friendly smile on her face. She looks young, maybe even your age. Actually, she looks remarkably like someone you went to high school with.

"Hi, Tavros! How are you feeling? Long time, no see!"

Huh. Small world.

"Uh, hi, Feferi. I didn't know that you, uh, had a job here."

"Yeah! I just finished school last year, and moved nearby when I got hired here! It's reely nice."

You remember the not-so-subtle fish puns Feferi had a habit (halibut, you mentally correct) of using. "So, uh, if you don't mind me…prying, what happened to the whole, uh, marine biology thing?"

She sighs, but her smile stays intact. "I just decided I would be beta off helping people than fish." The smile disappears. "Sometimes, people get hurt and can't ask for help."

You don't like the somber look she has now, so you try to lighten the mood with one of her puns.

"Kelp."

She looks at you, incredulous. "What?"

"You said 'help.' You, uh, should have said 'kelp.' It's a pun."

She stares at you, wide-eyed with surprise. "Well, yeah, I guess. But, Tavros, I'm here to kelp _you_. Don't you know why you're here?"

Your chest feels too tight to answer. This is a dream, isn't it? It must be. It's just a dream that coincides with the nightmares you've had recently.

You notice she's still waiting for an answer, and all you can bring yourself to do is shake your head back and forth.

She's quiet for a moment, and appears to be picking her words carefully. She clears her throat.

"Tavros, you were brought in this morning. You were found in an alley in a pile of garbage. Your pants were off and…" she takes a deep breath, "and you had been raped. The man who brought you in said you were on top of a cinder-block and covered in your own blood and… dirt."

This sounds just like your nightmare.

"I came in because we need to draw blood to make shore you haven't gotten any infections. I need you to stick your arm out."

You don't realize you're not dreaming until the needle stabs deep into your elbow, and when you watch the vial fill with blood, you are once again met with unconsciousness.

*

When you wake, the room is cool and dim. Feferi is gone, and there is a card on the table by your bed. You pick it up, and another card drops out of it onto your blanket.

The pink construction-paper one still in your hand reads:

Tavros,

My shift ended, so I had to leave. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon! The doctor said if your tests come back fine you should be released by Friday.

You've been through some things that nobody should ever have to experience, and I want you to know that if you ever need anything, ever, you can always call me.

Your friend always,

Feferi.

Her phone number is written at the bottom inside a gigantic heart. Reading back over the note, you find that her i's are dotted with tiny hearts.

You put the card back on the table.

The other one, a simple piece of copy paper, only says, in scrawled, purple ink:

I'm sorry.

You all up and needed help, and no other motherfuckers came to save the day.

But I found you, all broken and shit.

And since I did, I will try to fix you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is short.  
> I'm also sorry this story is still unbeta'd.


	3. Wronged

Your days are spent on morphine shots and shitty hospital food that makes you want to puke.

Your nights are full of dreams about men: the one who ruined you (Why did he pick me? Who was he?) and the one who rescued you (Why did he pick me up? What did he look like? Why did he save my life when he could have passed by that alley just like everyone else?).

The question that always returns is 'will he come back?'

You're not sure who it's addressing.

You talk with Feferi when she comes in, and think about her when she doesn't. She says the doctor thinks you should be going home soon because so far your tests are normal. They want to take you to therapy.

You're thinking about letting them. You don't understand why you keep having nightmares and you can't really seem to smile anymore. Even when Feferi brings in your old high school year book and lets you draw X marks on all the people who pushed you around.

You rip out the boy who pushed you the hardest.

You keep the picture and the cards on your nightstand and try your hardest not to cry out when you shift and your back shoots up in pain.

You feel so tired, but you can't sleep.

You're lying in bed, barely awake, three days after being admitted, when Feferi enters your room. "Hi, Tavros! I'm here to see about getting you a bath. You've got to be feeling gross after lying in bed like this!"

You try not to sound cynical, but you do anyway. "Well, it's not like I can really do, uh, anything else."

You have a bruised tailbone, chronic pelvis pain, and a torn anal wall. You can't sit up for more than five minutes, and lying on your back for too long makes you sore in all the wrong places.

You sigh and push yourself up. She helps you into a standard hospital wheelchair (yours had disappeared from the alley by the time police were sent to the scene). She wheels you into the bathroom and you awkwardly remove the hospital issue nightgown/dress thing. She has the decency to blush when she helps you into the tub, then starts the water.

"I'll let you sit in here for awhile and wash up. When you're ready to get out, just yell at me. I'll be changing your sheets!" She hurries out and you look around the dismal washroom. The lights are dim and the sink is placed too close to the toilet. The bathwater is too warm but only your upper half can feel it, so you recline into the heat as far as you can without dipping your head under the surface.

You eventually decided you should probably actually wash yourself, and you lather up a brand-spankin' new bar of soap and clean yourself up. You're glad that they at least left you this, since you aren't allowed to get up to go to the bathroom (you try to hold it until you know Feferi is off shift so she isn't the one cleaning the nasty bedpan thing).

You wash off your skin, then rub some soap into your greasy hair. Your shitty Mohawk is getting too long again, but you obviously can't cut it any time soon.

You sigh, and rinse yourself off. You start to drain the water, then yell for Feferi.

She re-enters, holding a stack of fluffy towels. "Alright, buddy. This is gonna get awkward."

She helps you out of the tub and onto the floor, where she has laid out a towel. You sit there and dry yourself off, trying your hardest to keep a part of the cloth covering your bits. Once dry, you're lifted back into the chair, and given a fresh gown thing to put on. You dress, and she wheels you back into your room.

You're placed back in your bed, and you think Feferi wants to sit and talk to you, but the whole bathing thing wore you out. She gets the hint when you stretch out on your side and yawn. You tell her thank you for helping you get un-nasty, and she laughs, hugs you, gives you more morphine, then leaves.

You're asleep almost instantly.

*

When you wake, you aren't alone. Feferi stands at the end of your bed, and you dully note that it is once again bright outside, meaning you slept through the entire evening.

She smiles brightly at you and holds up a piece of paper.

"What's that?"

She walks around to the side of your bed and shows it to you.

It's another card.

You take it from her and open it. It's purple ink again. You hold your breath.

*

They told me your name's Tavros.

Hi, Tavros.

I can't get you out of my motherfucking head.

I want to know how you are all up and feeling.

I've been here every single motherfucking day, but the medibrothers say I can't come up and see you.

I just wanna make sure you're fucking alright.

This bitchtits wicked medisister said that you could have visitors if you motherfucking wanted them, so I guess I just gotta keep wishing that you'll want them.

I dream about you.

*

You read the card for the third time, then set it down on the nightstand with the others. "Were you the, uh, 'bitchtits wicked medisister'?"

Feferi giggles. "Yep! And I wasn't kidding: any time you're feeling up for it, you can have visitors. But Tavros, before you say you want them, I think you need to consider what might happen if this man comes in. You could have flashbacks, or a panic attack. He could be a total jackass who just happened to do one nice thing. Also, before he comes in, we need to get his fingerprints to make sure they aren't the same as…the man who raped you."

You nod and say, as calmly as you can , "Then I want you to get his fingerprints."

She considers your statement, notes the lack of stutter, and nods. "I'll go see if he's downstairs. He's normally here around five o'clock anyway, so he should be getting here soon."

She smiles at you as she leaves, and, for once, you can return the gesture with sincerity.

You're going to meet your knight.

When Feferi comes back, she is alone. She smiles brightly at you, and holds out your dinner (the regular, a pb&j sandwich). "Hey! The fingerprinting and everything took a lot longer than we expected, and he was late getting here today, so by the time we got it all done, visiting hours were over. But when I told him he had access," here she looks you in the eye and grins, "he promised he'd be back tomorrow at exactly five fifteen."

You're processing this while she adjusts your pillow and sheets and sets your dinner on the night table (not on top of your cards, of course).

"He seems reely excited to see you, Tavros. I mean, I'm gonna have to sit in here with you guys while he's here, but that's no fishue!"

You peel the crust off of your sandwich and bite into it.

Ugh, you hate crunchy peanut butter. But you're famished, so you eat it anyway.

She takes your paper plate and tosses it in the trash can, then says you should probably get some sleep.

"I'll try to bring you in some more comic books tomorrow. Or maybe a book. Anything to keep you occupied while you wait so you don't explode from anxiety!"

You nod and thank her, then settle down in your blankets.

She hugs you gently and says, "I hope things get better for you, Tavros. You need some happiness now more than ever."

Then she places a kiss on your forehead.

You're too stunned to echo her "Good night!"

When she's gone, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.


	4. Turning

You'd like to say you waited patiently, and you suppose it'd be true, but you spend your next twenty hours constantly contemplating what will happen when he comes to see you.

What if he is disgusted by you because you've been violated? What if he's a creepy, old man who's only here because he wants a turn to violate you? What if he starts stalking you? What if he falls in love with you?

What if you fall in love back? Or embarrass yourself? Or he thinks you're ugly or stinky or stupid or just hates everything about you?

Why do you feel like you're going on a blind date?

Why do you want him to approve of you?

At four o'clock, Feferi comes in. She cleans you up as best she can while you're still in bed, and sits with you while you wait. You start to feel tired, seeing how you didn't sleep at all last night, so she says you can nap until he gets here.

You make her double-pinky-promise to wake you up before she lets him in the room. She agrees, then turns out your light.

You don't realize you were sleeping until she comes back in to wake you.

*

"Tavros, wake up!"

When your eyes blink open, she smiles brightly at you. "Am I okay to bring him in?"

You're so excited and nervous that you think your stomach might be trying to eat itself and you just want to look this man in the eye and tell him thank you for not leaving you behind when everyone else in the world has.

You nod.

She turns the lights on and pops out into the hallway.

You sit up as much as you're comfortable with, and she reenters with your knight.

He's…odd-looking, in a pleasant way.

He's got a mass of black hair that curls up and around his head like an unforgiving thundercloud. His eyes look dark blue from this distance, but when he steps closer you can see that they are, in fact, a deep purple. His nose is almost-big and his lips are definitely-big, but they look soft enough. When he grins at you, you spot canines that look lethally sharp and you have to wonder if they've been filed.

His body is thin, almost gangly, and he's way too fucking tall (you can't judge accurately from your position, but you'd estimate he's around 6'4").His arms are weirdly long and dangle by his hips, and oh, fuck, his hands are huge.

You wonder what they would feel like on your skin, but that makes you think of too-rough, calloused hands that you don't want to feel on you ever again and your eyes go wide and you start to sink back down under the blankets and wish that your stupid legs would move so you could fold yourself into a defensive little ball, but then you remember that Feferi warned you about this.

This man did not rape you.

He saved you.

You're having a flashback, it's not real, and you are okay.

You sit back up and try to smile at him. You might have been successful, but it may have been one of those awkward, half-smirk things that you do sometimes, and oh, wow, you are way more nervous about this than he is.

He just looks…relaxed.

He pulls one of the chairs up to your bed and sits down.

When he speaks, you think you might be having heart issues and should they put you on one of those beeping palpitation-monitors?

"Hey, Tavros. I'm Gamzee motherfucking Makara. It's nice to all up and meet you, the right way."

You nod, and take the awkward hand he's stretching out towards you. Before you can shake it, he's retracted his proffered arm, retreating with your hand. He holds on to it, and you think you should probably be bothered by this, but for some reason, you aren't.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm really motherfucking sorry I didn't get there sooner. I'd have clubbed that nasty, vile piece of shit. Not one brother has the motherfucking right to do that shit to another brother."

You nod again, transfixed by this strange man. It's like he is buried treasure and your heart has an X smack-dab in the middle of it, and maybe if you dig deep enough in there, you'll find him.

"Tavros? You feeling okay? You haven't said a word yet. If this is too much for you, just say so and we'll have Gamzee visit another day."

Oh, Feferi is still here. You forgot she had to supervise you. "No, Fef, I think I'm alright."

Her tone is soft, but you can just hear her say, "Yeah, I think you are too."

*

The three of you sit for hours, quietly talking about anything and everything that comes to mind.

Gamzee wants to know how you and Feferi met.

She asks where he's from (born and raised in this shitty city).

He asks her why she wanted to be a nurse and she launches into a well-rehearsed monologue on her desire to help people.

You mostly just sit still and listen to them interact. You wonder why Gamzee hasn't gotten uncomfortable and left yet. This meeting is plenty awkward, but you think maybe he doesn't want to leave you again.

This thought makes you smile.

While you talked, you compiled a mental resume.

Name: Gamzee Makara, 24 years old.

He's a high school graduate. He doesn't have any family left except his dad, but the old man is never around. He considers his only true family to be his roommate, a feisty, angry little man named Karkat. They share an apartment about three blocks from your own.

He has two part-time jobs: tattooing at a parlor downtown until five o'clock, then bussing tables at your favorite restaurant from eight until eleven at night. That explains how he found you.

He mentions having seen you there when you come in, and you normally come in every day, so when you weren't there the night after what happened, he went to look for you on his break. He said that when he found you, he thought you were dead, and "I was sad, because that would've been a waste of a fine motherfucker," and you can't decide if he's saying you're a nice person or hitting on you.

You're getting sick of talking about the incident though, so you ask him to change the subject. He agrees, but when he glances up at the clock on your wall, he jumps up and says he's got to go before he's late to the diner. Feferi stands and starts to escort him out, but before he leaves, he stoops down to wrap his arms around you. When you finally process that you are being hugged, and that it doesn't scare you, you stretch your arms up around his neck and hug him back. He whispers into your Mohawk that he'll be back tomorrow, and, buried deep in a pillow of black hair, you smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whyyyy can I not write Gamzee? =(  
> Quick, someone make me a good writer!


	5. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet!  
> Also, quick question: When you read this story, what nationalities do you picture for Gam and Tav? I tried to leave it ambiguous, but I want to know what you guys think!

You spend the rest of your week in the hospital either talking to or thinking about Gamzee. When he's around, your heart feels strangely full, and your head doesn't seem like such a scary place. It feels like, even though he's already saved you once, he's going to keep saving you every day.

Your injuries have mostly healed, you don't have any infections, and you can wheel yourself into the bathroom with no hassle. The climb in and out of the chair is only difficult because the bed is so high, but you mastered the task in one day.

When Feferi asks you about therapy, you decline.

Somehow, you aren't scared anymore. You know it happened, and you're still upset about it, and you still feel an undying hatred towards the man who stole more than your money, but you have accepted the truth and you're ready to just…get the fuck over it.

You are discharged Saturday evening. Last night, Gamzee had handed you a slip of paper with his phone number and address on it, and said that any time you needed him, you could just call.

You wanted to call even if you didn't need him.

Now, as you're preparing to leave, you don clothes that he brought you (yours are filthy), and gather your cards. His pants are long enough that you can cuff them twice, and his shirt is too wide, but they're soft and they smell like him, and that comforts you.

You slide your shoes on and climb into the hospital wheelchair (they're letting you take it home until you can buy a new one), then roll out into the hallway.

You get your release forms and bills (oh, holy fuck, you are never going to pay that off) and exit the building.

It is just past five o'clock when you start the trek home. When you are about a block from the hospital, a red Taurus pulls up beside you.

"Tav! Sorry, bro, I thought I'd be at the motherfucking hospital before they let you out. Wanna ride?"

You nod and he parks the car. He jumps out, opens the passenger door, and wheels up you to it. You clamber in, and he folds up the chair so it fits in the back seat. He hops back in and asks where you live.

You give directions as best you can, and the two of you talk and laugh the whole ride home. At one point, you're laughing so hard there are tears in your eyes and you can't see so you miss a turn and have to turn around, which makes you both laugh even harder.

It feels good to laugh.

Twenty minutes later, he parks outside your building. You turn to thank him, and find his face much closer than you had anticipated.

"I really like you, Tavbro, and I want us to be friends. But if you don't get your like on towards me, or if it's too motherfucking soon, you gotta say so."

His breath smells like cinnamon and you can feel it on your cheeks and it's warm and he's nice and suddenly you lose control of your spine and it makes you lean forward and then your lips are touching his and your eyelids fall.

When you realize how stiff his posture is, you jump backwards and open your eyes. His face is pale and his eyes are too wide. You blush ridiculously and stammer out an apology.

He is quiet and still, but his gaze keeps sweeping over you. After a moment he turns and opens his door. He looks back at you once, then gets out of the car.

You slump back against your seat and wait for him to put your chair down so you can get out.

You don't expect it when he opens your door instead of the back one. He stoops down to meet your gaze, and levels you with a stare that gives you goosebumps.

"We gotta have a talk about this, Tavbro. We'll get our motherfucking feelings jam on when we get inside."

He opens the back door and grabs the wheelchair. He sets it down in front of you, and you push yourself into it.

He wheels you into the building after shutting the door and locking the car. You get on the elevator and push the button for the third floor. When you arrive, you pull up to room twelve. It's the last one in the hall. The next room, thirteen, is on the fourth floor, and the man who lives there, John, is one of the few people you can call a friend.

You grab your key out of your backpack, which, thankfully, had not been stolen from you in the alley. You unlock the door and roll in.

Everything is how you left it, and you head to your room to deposit your bag.

When you return to the living room, you find Gamzee stretched out on the couch, looking around at all of your pictures. Most are just posters from some movies you liked, with the majority being from Peter Pan, your all-time favorite. Some are drawings that you did back when you could afford decent art supplies. He smiles at your sketched self-portrait.

When he notices you watching him, he motions you over to the couch. You stop in front of it and he sits up. When he puts his feet on the floor in front of him, his knees touch yours and you feel the contact signifies that he doesn't hate you completely.

"Tav, I like you. You are one of the best motherfucking people I have ever met in my existence, and you know how to make a brother get his mirth on. I want us to be the best bros that have ever been."

You get the vague impression that he's breaking up with you.

"You gotta understand that the shit I'm about to drop on you is really fucking secret. If you wanna be more than bros with me, you gotta know it though. So I need you to motherfucking swear that you won't tell any other brothers what I'm about to lay down."

You swear.

"I used to be all up into some crazy shit. I did all kinds of motherfucking drugs what messed with my skull. My old man gave me money to go to college and whatnot, but I blew it all getting blown on shit I shouldn't have got into. I kept on going like that until I got way too fucking high and tried to jump off of a building to see if I could get higher. I wanted to fly, so I launched off my roof."

He face starts to droop, and you can tell he is ashamed of this story, but you don't stop him. If this is what it takes to be his friend, or even more, then you need to hear it.

"I fell three stories and broke my left leg and most of my ribs. I coulda been paralyzed."

He shoots a sympathetic look in your direction. You nod, telling him to continue.

"So when I was all healed up, they told me that I had to get help with my addiction shit. I had to go to a group home and therapy for a long time until they finally told me I was stable enough to go into their other program. That's when they give you an apartment with somebody else what finished their therapy and they see how well you can live by yourselves. You can only move out when you're judged to be doing alright."

You remember Karkat, the roommate he mentioned, and wonder why he had gone to therapy.

"Me and Karbro got a good living situation now. We go to work, come home, and just chill. At first, he said I made him get his frighten on. He told me I was all up and creepy. I guess I was still getting used to being off my shit then, and I wasn't doing so hot. But I got better, and he started being less shitty and scared of me. Ever since then, he's been my best bro."

Your curiosity gets the best of you and you ask what sent Karkat to the group home.

"He had a serious love affair with some bottles of alcohol. He had anger issues too, so when he got his drink on, he always wound up fucking somebody up, or getting himself fucked up. He came to the home after waking up in the hospital 'cause somebody wrecked his shit. But he's better now. And if you want us to be bros, I think you should give being bros with him a shot too."

"I think, I can manage that. He sounds, uh, like he needs a good friend. Not, that you aren't a good friend, I just, uh, think that maybe he could use some more."

"So you think you can get your friendly feels on towards Karbro?"

You nod.

"And what about me?"

"My, um, feels are all over the place towards you."

He leans towards you. "Yeah? And how friendly are they?"

"…I guess they could be, uh, considered friendly."

He leans closer. He breath ghosts across your face again, and God, why is he doing this to you? "Do you all up and want them to be?"

Fuck, where is your courage? You pull it all into your heart and take a deep breath, then tilt your face towards his. "I want them to be more than friendly... I'd like, um, for us, to be more than that."

His lips are fluttering against yours as he whispers, "I think I can motherfucking deal with that."


	6. Getting There

You go back to work on Monday, but it is hard to pull yourself out of bed. You go through the motions of your routine, and nothing is any different.

Except dinner. You still come in alone, wheel up to the counter, and order your chicken nuggets. But now, they come with a note scrawled on a napkin. It says "Hey, Tav," or "I can't wait to see you tonight," or sometimes it's just a smiley face.

Always, he will smile at you when he comes out to bus tables.

Always, your heart stutters.

Sometimes, when you're too tired from working all day, or don't feel like having company, you'll leave early, writing a simple, "Sorry, not tonight," on your napkin. But most nights, you loiter at the counter, waiting for closing, when the patrons are shooed out and the kitchen empties. He'll take the handles of your chair, or your hand, and he'll walk you home.

You can't decide if he does it because he wants your company, or because he doesn't want you to go home alone. Regardless of his reason, it makes you happy.

Occasionally, he'll hold the door open for you, follow you in, and you'll sit on the couch and watch movies together until you wake up, cradled in his arms as he carries you to your bed. He'll press a kiss to your forehead that makes you shiver, and tells you that he'll lock the door behind him. He always does.

But sometimes, he won't come in. He'll tell you that he's too tired, or that Karkat (Who you have yet to meet) has asked him to come straight home. He'll kiss you, say good night, then walk the blocks to his apartment. He always texts you when he gets there.

So it worries you when, the following Saturday, he doesn't. You shoot him a quick "You home?" and get yourself ready for bed.

Bathed, teeth brushed, and pajamas donned, you crawl into bed, crushing your phone to your chest, waiting for a reply.

*

You wake up Sunday morning, still tired, and he still has not messaged you. You haul yourself out of bed, make breakfast, and swallow your Lucky Charms around the lump in your throat. You debate with yourself briefly, then call him. You get chills when it goes straight to voicemail.

You wheel back to your room, grab the card he left you with his address on it, snag a jacket, and set off. He had wanted to go to the park today, so maybe he's already there. You make your way there, settling yourself onto a bench by the entrance to wait.

You wait for approximately forty-five minutes before you decide he isn't coming and you're being stupid. You pull yourself back into your chair, glance at the card again, and wheel to his apartment.

The first thing you notice about his building is the ridiculously nice exterior. The second thing is that the inside has been grossly neglected. You ignore the disrepair and litter and roll into the elevator. It lets you out on the second floor, and you quickly find room four. Halted in front of the door, you can't help but notice the unsettling silence from within, or the scratches on the door that looked as if someone had missed the lock with their key.

You draw in a deep breath, steel your courage, and knock three times. You hear what might be a gasp, then a deadbolt turns. You are greeted with a two-inch view of a man half Gamzee's size with a glare that could melt a glacier.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

You fight the urge to just turn around, and you try to muster up a smile. "Tavros, and, I'm here for Gamzee. He was, uh, supposed to meet me at the park."

His eyes narrow further than you thought possible and he practically growls "He's not feeling well today."

"Oh. Uh, do you think, maybe, I could come in and say hi to him?"

"I'll tell him for you. Scram."

He moves to shut the door, but something feels off. You hit the door, palm flat. "Karkat, wait."

His eyes widen exponentially, but the door stops moving.

"What, exactly, is wrong with Gamzee?"

His eyes narrow once more, and then the door is slammed shut. For a moment, you are scared and angry, but then a chain rattles and the door opens fully. "He's in the back bedroom. Don't fucking wake him up."

He holds the door open and you wheel in. You attempt tot get a good look at the living room without seeming overly obvious. You can feel him scowl at you, though, so you continue on to the bedroom at the back of the apartment.

He is lying in bed, covered, with his back to the door, and you can only see the top of his head. You approach warily, and reach out a hand. You pull the blankets back an inch or two, and he grumbles. You retract your hand, but his shoots out and latches onto yours, and you can't help but think of the first time you met him.

Slowly, he rolls to face you.

His face is hallowed, skin too dark, and, in sleep, he looks relaxed. But still, something is wrong. You use your free hand to brush the hair away from his face. His eye is bruised, the skin around it purple, edging towards black.

Your gasp is what wakes him up, and he stirs, eyes fluttering open to gaze unseeingly at you. He takes a moment to completely wake up, then smiles at you. When he moves to sit up, you place your hand on his chest. "What happened?"

The question seems to confuse him. After a moment, he reaches a hand up to poke gingerly at his bruise. You take his hand in yours to stop him, and ask again.

This time, he responds with a slight smile and a shrug.

Frustrated, you groan and put your head in your hands. He reaches out to hold your hand again, and when you deny him, he grabs the armrests of your chair and tips you into bed with him. The sound you make can only be described as a squawk. He pulls the covers up and over you, then slides his arms around your waist and tugs you to him.

Cheeks flushed, body flush against his chest, you protest weakly. He simply sighs and pulls you closer. After a few minutes of him breathing in your Mohawk, he says, quietly, "I got jumped."

You try to lean back so you can see his face, but his arms tighten reflexively around you. "They said they work for the brother what I used to get my shit from. Say I owe him money. I say I don't owe him shit, and they get angry. Try to beat me up. I took 'em down with me though, so from what I can see, we're even."

You finally wrap your arms around him, and hold him tightly. Somehow, the story doesn't feel like the truth, but you shouldn't pry too much. If he didn't want to tell you, that was his decision. Still, it weighs heavily on your chest.

You hold each other in silence for a while, until you hear a grumbling noise. You glance up at him, and he smiles sheepishly at you. He's hungry. You grin, and propose that the two of you go get some food, then head to the park like he had wanted.

He agrees, and when he gets out of bed, you realize just how little clothing he had been wearing. He slips a pair of jeans on over his (purple, tight) boxers, and rummages through a drawer for a shirt. He emerges victorious, and soon, he's fully dressed and you're putting yourself back into your chair.

You're halfway to the front door when you hear Karkat asking Gamzee where you "Insipid couple of grubfisted douchebags" are going. Gamzee whispers something you can't hear, and Karkat's eyes widen almost comically.

Karkat retreats into what you assume is the other bedroom. Gamzee smiles at you, and slides into your lap. You're flustered, and he takes advantage of this by nuzzling his face into your neck. "Tavbro, would you all up and mind if my wonderful Karbro came along with us on our journey for the most fantastic of munchies?"

Karkat exits his bedroom, and upon seeing that you had not yet agreed to his accompanying you, looks, for the slightest moment, morose.

You give him the best smile you can manage, and ask, "Is Chinese food okay?"


End file.
